


Limitless Horizon

by supposed2bfunny



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, also please PLEASE support the creator of all these AUs!, gratuitous references to mediocre movies, so many AU references, there is literally no plot here folks they just talk and bang, these two have been through a lot but they are so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny
Summary: In the middle of a months-long respite from recording, Murdoc and Stu have an intimate conversation about stars, reincarnation, and the way love tends to blur the edges of one's life just a little bit.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Limitless Horizon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsykoRedHead16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsykoRedHead16/gifts).



> This fic was my secret Santa gift for [ Jakki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsykoRedHead16) On a Discord of theirs! I tried to tie in as many of their wonderful AUs as I could in this.

“God, Muds, you’re so good,” Stu gasped, hips stuttering against Murdoc’s as orgasm thrilled through him.

Murdoc would have loved to toss a smug comment his way, something to the effect of _he bloody well knew that he was good_. But then, orgasm was sweeping over him as well, and he could only shake and whimper as they rode their highs in near-unison. 

Stu ended up collapsing on top of him, and they lay like that for a long time, breathing heavily, sweatslick skin pressed together, Stu not bothering to pull out of Murdoc.

“How many was that?” Murdoc finally asked when he was sick of the near-silence.

“Hm?”

“Many was that?”

“I wasn’t keeping count,” he snorted, pulling back, scooping a handful of wet, blue hair off his forehead so he could better fix his dark gaze on Murdoc’s face. “Think we could take a breather though?”

Murdoc pretended to consider this, pretended to even look a little put-out. It would go against the persona he’d spent his entire life crafting to admit that he wasn’t sure he could so much as wiggle his toes at the moment, so exhausted he was from their many many rounds of passionate lovemaking. So eventually, he nodded. The singer kissed his forehead in acknowledgement and relaxed atop him, their lax bodies pressed together from hairline to anklebone. 

It was the third anniversary of the day he’d made it back to Stu and the rest of the band after his stint in prison. The day he’d come back, strode right up to the singer, looked him dead in the eye, and asked if they could make it official this time.

The thing about their relationship was that they had so many anniversaries it was hard to keep count of them all: their shared years together were pockmarked with fights, breakups—both sober and drunken—violent ruptures and months spent where they didn’t talk. The shadow of a narrow pink beach still crossed over them sometimes, as did the memories of headlights in a storefront window. So they celebrated whenever they thought to. Sometimes they would miss the anniversary of their kiss at Jamaica, or the anniversary of the first real date they had after Plastic Beach. Other times, they would find clusters of reasons to celebrate their time together: Valentine’s Day, the anniversary of the time Stuart kissed Murdoc behind the stage of Glastonbury, summertime—a busy time for them historically—held countless firsts: “first time we ever said _I love you_ ,” “first time we suggested being ‘boyfriends,’” “anniversary of when we got back together after you broke up with me for doing cocaine and then having a three-way with those Romanian dancers."

A million reasons to celebrate their years of stupid behavior together.

They were different people now of course, and sometimes Murdoc couldn’t believe his luck that Stu was willingly cuddling in his arms like this, every inch of his skin free for Murdoc to explore; by now he felt there was no molecule of Stu he hadn’t caressed, and yet there were the more well-worn roads, sure: dog-eared corners of the map where he had made pilgrimage once, then again, again, again. Likewise, though it had taken decades to get here, he felt he was truly open to Stuart, a man in a body, baring himself as best he could and letting Stu see, dip curious, elegant fingers into the folds of his frontal lobe, leave fingerprints there, allow Stu’s tongue to plunge into his sternum, lap against the thrum of his heart beating in its tense excitement. They existed in the blur of motion as lines were crossed between two souls, and it was surprisingly comfortable.

Perhaps a little sticky, Murdoc reflected thoughtfully, squirming just a bit to scratch an itch on his side. But quite nice, overall.

“Can I ask you something?”

He’d been under the impression that Stu was too tired to talk, so he was surprised by the question. Rather than wasting breath and words, he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Muds, what do you think our lives would have been like if we hadn’t met?”

“You’re really asking me this? Pretty sure we’ve had this conversation before, sunshine.”

“Well, we were different people last time we had the conversation.”

“How very philosophic of you, Derrida.” He didn’t bother mentioning that those exact words had only just flitted through his own mind.

“Just humor me, prat. What do you think?”

Murdoc looked straight ahead at the ceiling. There was a skylight above them in their rented cabin. They were staying in New Zealand for some stargazing on part of their three-month break from music and producing and running themselves ragged. They had gone ahead and authorized Jamie and Damon to promote enough shittily-managed merchandisers to slap their faces on products and sell sell sell, so money was coming in just fine. In the meantime, Russel was doing a stint with a charity in New Orleans, and last time they had checked Instagram, Noodle was in Israel flirting with a model and social media ‘influencer,’ whatever that meant. 

They’d gone first to Morocco for shopping, then a quick spell in France to find some quality vegetarian cuisine to inspire Stu to broaden his horizons, which had become rather limited. Finding much of the food there to be a bit too _je ne said quoi_ for their beans-and-toast tastebuds, Murdoc had suggested an unplanned hop into Belgium for some _pommes frites_ , and he’d been satisfied to see that Stu was filling his jeans a little better by the time they scooted onto a plane bound for New Zealand, with the Aoraki Mackenzie Dark Sky Reserve waiting for them, and a small cabin nearby to continue their stargazing in private. 

One of their biggest goals of the trip had been simple: look at the Milky Way together. Stu had suggested it, Amdromeda-inspired romantic that he was, and Murdoc had consented, if only because it made his heart skip a little faster, the notion of taking in their microscopic place in the universe together. They’d had plenty of spacey conversations over shared joints on tours, but it felt different to be living out these conversations in real time, alone with the man he loved.

His eyes lingered on the brighter stars; he wished he could tell which one was Betelgeuse with his naked eye. He trusted stars with names rather than a bunch of letters and numbers in them; scientists were getting lazy, forgoing names in favor of YV WhomevertheFuck038. 

“Our lives if we hadn’t met,” he finally murmured, coming back to Stu’s query. “Would’ve been dull, wouldn’t they?”

“Yeah. Probably, I mean. Do you think you would have found another lover?”

“Honestly? No. You probably would have though. A life without Murdoc Niccals and his shiny old Astra would have likely meant life as a breeder for you, filling up some poor Crawley crawler till she dried up, carting kids around to rugby or ballet or checkers, every other weekend with your in-laws, a pretty predictable life, but I’m sure you’d have liked it.”

“That sounds so prosaic,” he complained.

“Well,” he snorted. “Mate, come on. You were working at your Uncle Norm’s and fingering the girl who was first chair clarinet back in primary school when we met. I’m not saying that your life would’ve been unhappy. I’m sure you’d have settled into a nice marriage, never moving more’n a stone’s throw from your parents.”

“Things might have changed, though!” He insisted, nuzzling into Murdoc’s neck. "You're assuming that you're the sole key to my success."

"Well."

“'Well' nothing! I might have tinkered around with those keyboards at work and started recording some good stuff. One day, maybe old Norm, he likes what he hears, right? Makes a comment to my co-worker Nigel—”

“You worked with a guy named Nigel?”

“He worked weekdays, I worked weekends. Anyway, Nigel listens to some of the stuff I’ve recorded at Norm’s recommendation and is really blown away. He sends it in to a local radio station, and the next thing you know, everyone’s calling in asking for the name of the song. Suddenly I’m working my way up from the bottom, playing a little bit of electro-punk, and little bit of techno, making a name for myself.”

“Even if that happened, you’d still wind up knocking up some poor girl and having a bunch of kids. Randy thing like you, there was never any other way.”

“Thanks, Muds,” he knocked his sharp knuckles against the bassist’s temple playfully. “You’re talking an awful lot about me considering I asked about you too.”

“Stu, stop.”

“I asked you to humor me.” The stars were twinkling in a way he’d never seen before. Like they were alive. He’d read an article on their flight (after about six whiskeys, neat, to settle his nerves), that it was called ‘atmospheric scintillation.’ Something to do with the light from the stars traveling through the atmosphere and refracting before hitting the human eye. He hadn’t been totally clear on the science behind how light travels, but the article was still interesting enough and passed the time. It was a pretty stupid expression: they were dancing up there in the dark sky, is what they were doing. Not _scintillating_ or whatever. At least he could actually see them: it certainly beat London’s smog and Detroit’s light pollution.

“Stu, don’t know that I’d be here if I hadn’t met you.” His voice came out quiet.

“Don’t be dramatic, you old tosser.”

“No, I’m not. I mean…there’s only so many years someone can go around abusing his body and deluding himself into thinking he’s going to make it big, right?”

“I don’t know if that’s—” 

“I already had cocaine, Stu. That combined with what I used to drink? I was racing Heart Failure to the finish line with every line I took, and we were neck-to-bloody-neck. I’m not saying anything would have been intentional; I can acknowledge how much I love myself.”

“Oh, well, as long as you can be honest about that then, I guess we’re fine.”

“Har, har. I’m just saying. I think the path I was on…was a much shorter path. And when our lives intersected, I was knocked onto a newer, longer path.”

“Yeah?”

Stu pulled back just enough to look into Murdoc’s eyes. The bassist looked up at him, backlit by the whole fucking universe up in that sky. His own star, hovering, _scintillating_ , right before him.

Murdoc leaned up, kissed his mouth firmly. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Fuckin’ bowled me over, you daft thing.”  


“You were the one driving,” Stu chuckled against his lips.

“But you were the force pulling me.”

“ _Oh_ …”

And then they were kissing, leisurely and wet, Murdoc wondering what he would name a star if he were to name one after Stu. He let his body go completely lax, enjoying the feeling of being pressed down into the plush mattress, caught between soft sheets and Stu’s body weight on top of him: not the least bit heavy—he could easily push the other man off if he wanted to, but it was so grounding to be covered like this by another body.

“Y’know,” Stu interrupted his pleasant daydreaming, “I think even if we hadn’t met like that, somehow we still would’ve found one another. Through some sort of. Dunno,” his lips kept kissing between words, vibrating on the curve of Murdoc’s lower lip. “Cosmic force?”

“Mate, did you sneak some edibles at the Reserve without me?”

“No. ‘M not trying to sound psychedelic or nothin’,” he answered. “On the flight. While you were drinking and reading whatever it was you were reading, I watched one of the movies I’d packed along, _Cloud Atlas_.”

“The one with the same four people playing like thirty different roles? Looked terrible! Those attempts to make Bae Doona look English were rubbish.”

“The movie was about reincarnation, Murdoc,” he snapped impatiently. “At least, I think it was. It was about a lot of things. Anyway, there was that one line I really liked from the trailer that made me want to watch it: ‘Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”

“So you think we’re together because we keep being reincarnated to be together? If Murdoc at age twelve had died of a heroine overdose in his brother’s room one night, he’d be reborn to find a blue-haired lad named Stuart who would set his life on track again?”

Stu’s fingers found his cheekbones. “Did you really try heroine at age twelve?”

“Do you really believe that reincarnation drivel?” He asked, not in the mood to have whatever conversation Stu’s tone was suggesting they were on the cusp of. Divert, divert. His own fingers skidded along the bumpy expanse of Stu’s sides, flesh punctuated by the ridges of his ribcage. Wind-whipped sand dunes in a distant desert. 

“Not necessarily,” he answered, intuiting Murdoc's discomfort and inching away from the topic. “I guess I”m more drawn to the idea that there are like, magnetic forces at work in the universe. Your crime, being reckless, crashing your car…it reshaped my future. Because maybe we were drawn together by something invisible. And maybe we can’t perceive it the same way we perceive the magnetic forces at the Earth’s poles, or the way pigeons can feel them to navigate home, or the way we can read other forces out in space, like radio waves, and infrared rays, and whatever comes out of black holes—”

“ _You’re_ a bloody black hole.”

“But anyway, there are invisible forces pulling us together. I know you’re a Sunday Satanist and all and don’t have much spirituality in you, Muds. But look, it makes me feel a sort of comfort to think that there’s something out there, nudging us towards our acmes, our happiness, our soulmates.”

“I hate when you use that sodding word, bluebird,” he groaned.

“Okay, I’ll stop with the soulmate drivel. Point is, loving you is like coming home, Murdoc,” he said, knocking the bassist’s cynicism on its ass for a moment. “It’s like touring and then coming home and feeling like I can finally be myself, relax and be seen by someone who truly sees me, different from how the fans and the cameras and the media do. And I like the thought that there’s endless universes out there that we might travel through, but we always come back to one another. We’re two magnets that will inevitably click together, and that pull, the force that connects us, it’s what’s guiding us through our daily experiences. The outcome? Finding you once more."

“An endless series of universes out there for us to travel, huh? Even bigger than Murdoc and Stu’s big World Travel Session?”

“Way bigger’n Morocco and New Zealand, Muds.”

“Universes where we can be different people, even?” He meant it as a joke, but the man’s face lit up at the suggestion.

“Why not? Like _Cloud Atlas_ : that Adam bloke was Robert Cavendish was Luisa Rey was Sonmi-451. At least, I think. Maybe I misinterpreted. Like I said, the movie was kind of weird and complicated…”

“That sounds pretty fun,” he admitted, giving into the singer’s imagination in spite of himself. “In one universe, maybe I’m some sort of mafia boss.” He’d noticed that Stu had also packed _The Godfather_ to watch, and that was an idea he could get behind.

“And I’m what? The cop that takes you down?”

“I was going to say my exotic dancer. I’m living a dazzling, dirty money life somewhere in some universe! And you’re there, my elegant little pet who gives me lap dances whenever I want. Kisses my rings, all that.”

“Okay well two can play at that game! Maybe there’s a universe where I’m…hm.” It took Stu a while to gather his thoughts, though Murdoc was quite comfortable and in no rush. Finally, he grinned with satisfaction. “I become an attorney for environmental law!”

“Fucking goodie-two-shoes.”

“Well you’re a Johnny-no-mates journalist, and your investigative writing catches my attention and we team up and save the planet from global warming. You’ve never had someone to have your back the way I do, and I see how your gritty style can impact the public’s perception of the planet.”

“Ooh, okay, good ending. Less salacious than mine, that.”

“Big surprise,” he muttered, and then his face lit up anew. “Wait, speaking of planets, what if in some universe, one of us is an alien?”

“What, me? Because I have green skin? I feel very objectified right now, Stu,” he sniffed.

“Fine, I’ll be the alien," he relented as though this were something serious they were committing to. "I’m nine feet tall, got four arms. And my cock’s bloody huge too. Wait, two cocks! Or even three—"

“What? Fuck no, I don’t think I’m anatomically fit for that universe. And you're tall enough as it is. Rubbish, that one. Next!”

“‘Next?’ We just listing as many as we can? I was about to create a whole backstory about my home planet for you!"

"I said next!" 

"Muds!"

“Go on then, pet. Create as many as you can. And no repeats, obviously. You repeat, you lose.”

“Right then…vampires and werewolves?”

“What is this, bloody _Twilight_?”

“You’re literally no fun, Muds. You’re hairy enough to be a werewolf. Let me suck your blood!” He dropped his head down to nip the bassist’s neck playfully, and Murdoc moaned softly in spite of himself. He made a mental note to add ‘vampire/incubus visitation’ to their list of role-play ideas.

“What about pirates?” He asked as the singer tongued the pounding pulse against his jugular.

“A universe where one of us is a pirate? And kidnaps the other? Or you’re a Colonel for the East India Company and you want me to stop stealing all the bounty from your ships?”

“Hey Stuart?”

“Yes?”

“Where the hell is this creativity of yours when we’re in the recording studio and you’re playing the fucking recorder through your nostrils?”

“Piss off!"

“Okay, maybe I’m reaching a little far,” he admitted, ruffling the singer’s hair. “Can’t we have more mundane universes to occupy?”

“What do you mean? Compared to aliens and vampires, isn’t our world already pretty mundane?”

He let out a throaty laugh. “Ask Noodle if life felt mundane when she was clearing hordes of zombies from Kong before we recorded _Demon Days_. Or how mundane was the festival at Margate? That wasn’t the average white-picket-fence sort of scenario most couples conjure up when they plan their lives together, bluebird. Not much normalcy in being chased down by old Boogie, was there?”

The singer’s expression darkened at the mention of the Boogieman, and Murdoc kicked himself for saying something so stupid, for bringing up memories that still stung so sharply. “Hey,” he murmured, cupping Stu’s face in his hands and forcing their eyes to meet. “What I’m saying is, I like you a lot, dullard. So much so that I’d fall in love with you watching you skate around your stupid roller-skates at Venice Beach.”

“Really?” He asked dubiously. 

“Swear it. There’s a whole alternate timeline where I’m there feeding gulls seaside, and I see you bend down to pick up a discarded bottle and put it in the recycling bin, and I fall in love with you.”

“You had me at me bending down.”

They giggled, kissed, giggled some more, but Murdoc wasn’t done charming him just yet. “There’s a world out there where you and I fall in love selling cheap lippies and flavored seltzer at a drugstore somewhere, batting eyes at one another under the florescent lights.”

“That’s the most un-charming come-on I’ve ever heard, Murdoc.”

“Fine! How about a world where you’re a renowned supermodel and I’m…er, a cowboy…from…Mars!”

“Now you’re just being silly!”

“Oh right, because I’m the one who started this lark!”

“Just admit you had fun coming up with all these scenarios. ‘Thanks, Stuart, for providing great conversation throughout my refractory period.’”

Murdoc smacked him playfully. “All this sweet talk was just killing time so we could fuck again?”

“Muds, all of our conversations are just placeholders till we fuck again, don’t pretend any different,” he snorted. And they were both laughing again, although the bassist had to admit that he could feel interest stirring in his lower belly once more. 

“Speaking of being un-charming, hm? I didn’t know you dragged me across the globe just for sex."

“Look, being serious now: all this is to say, my life feels whole when you’re here with me. When we’re together. No matter how many times we’ve drifted apart over the years, Murdoc—shit, over the decades, really—”’

“Fuck off, stop making me feel old—”

“No matter how many times we drift apart, we’re like stars. Shooting out light, you know? And eventually, our respective lights, they’ll always reach each other.”

“That’s true, Stu.”

“You agree with me?”

“Sure, you really are a big ball of gas.”

The singer opened his mouth to argue, but Murdoc swooped in to kiss him, capturing his lower lip in a soft bite. Stu groaned, eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the kiss, propping himself up on his elbows so he could devote all his attention to devouring Murdoc.

It occurred to them as kisses escalated into open-mouthed panting that Stu had never pulled out of Murdoc, and soon they were grinding into one another, Stu’s cock swelling and getting hard inside Murdoc’s body.

“This okay?” He asked.

“God, yeah, love the stretch. Don’t ever leave, okay?”

“ _Fuck_ , Muds.”

“Yeah, just like that, dove. Roll your hips, fill me up. All mine, aren’t you?”

“Always, all for you,” he responded, breathlessly, sitting up a bit more so he could reach down and stroke Murdoc to full hardness, the sight of the cock twitching in his fist enough to get him aroused and throbbing. “Doesn’t hurt, right?”

“No, still wet and loose from the last round,” he purred, letting his hands run up and down the singer’s arms, over his shoulder blades, dipping down to squeeze his round arse. “Whole body’s desperate for you.”

“Ah,” he bit his lip, unable to hold back the slow, shallow thrust of his hips. “Hard to control myself when you say stuff like that.”

“Don’t say ‘hard,’ then,” he teased.

“Murdoc—”

“Shh, don’t hold back,” he urged, tugging Stu down to kiss him more and spreading his legs wide, pushing his heels down into the mattress so he could arch up in a shallow thrust, just barely giving them the friction they both craved. “We’ve had a few fast, rough rounds. Make this one last for me. Make it feel like eternity.”

“Oh, god,”

“Nah, leave that spiritualism shit out of it. No god. Just you and me under all these stars.”

“Waxing poetic, hm?” He teased, nipping the bassist’s earlobe and earning a shiver of pleasure. But Stu obeyed the request, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. The only sound in the room was their panting and the wet slide of their flesh joining. Not worrying about when or how they would hit their climaxes, they simply writhed against one another, fingers finding each other and interlocking as the stars eased their way over the sky, time stretching out leisurely as two lovers took their time sharing touches and sighs.

Eventually, one of Murdoc’s legs ended up draped across Stu’s lower back, but aside from that they scarcely moved, focusing on grinding together, savoring the feeling of where their bodies met, Murdoc’s hole clenching around the stretch of Stu’s cock, the heat of their bellies, the sweat beading beneath their arms and against their hairlines.

They weren’t really dancing, Murdoc realized as he tipped his head back, accepting Stu’s lips along the side of his neck. That metaphor didn’t seem to fit here: this was what it felt like to scintillate, the flames of their very beings—souls felt like such a fucking petty word to use—flickering against one another. The optical illusion of looking through a window and seeing two flames when really only one candle is lit: that was it.

“You know, you make sense to me,” Murdoc spoke around a moan. However slow they moved, the ecstasy still had a way of building, and what was at first a pleasurable throb of desire was now an electric current coursing up his spine, lighting up every nerve ending in his body. His hips began to cant up just a little faster, and Stu of course perceived this, rocking into him that much harder, with that much more enthusiasm. Still so gentle, so controlled. If only they could do this all night, never stopping, letting it build only to pause and start from the beginning. 

He knew full well they were both far too hedonistic for that: they’d be fucking in earnest before the hour was up, coaxing orgasms out of their bodies for the joy of it.

“You might just be the only person who’s ever said that,” Stu replied, drawing back from his kissing to brush the tip of his nose against Murdoc’s. 

“I mean it, Stu,” he gasped, “not just sayin’ that. You’re a head case, yeah, took me fucking years to get even half of what you’re ever on about. Worth it though, all that trial and error. Worth it to get to know what you mean. What you are.” His hands found the singer’s face again, long nails skimming his cheekbones, touching the feathery fan of his lashes. “I make sense when I’m with you because I’m myself, and when I’m myself, I can understand you. You see?”

“Oh,” Stu breathed, brows furrowing. “Oh. _Oh_ fuck, Murdoc. C’mere.” And suddenly he was pulling back, out of the bassist, leaving Murdoc confused and disappointed for only a fraction of a second. His concern faded quickly because then Stu was sitting back against the headboard and pulling Murdoc into his lap, coaxing his legs apart, fingers seeking his slick, fucked-open hole. “Come here now, let me hold you.”

Murdoc scrambled to comply, easing himself back down onto the singer’s cock, hissing at the new angle, at the sensation of Stu’s arms wrapping around him and pulling their bodies flush together. A rather embarrassing whimper escaped him as one lanky arm wound around his lower back, pulling his hips down hard so every inch of Stu’s cock pierced him while the singer’s other arm slid between them to tweak his nipples.

“I feel the same way, you know. That’s what I was trying to say about the universes, about the different versions of ourselves, about the stars.”

“Yeah, I got it,” he replied, both hands sinking into wet blue hair and pulling gently. “I got it. That’s what I’m saying. Takes me a minute sometimes, but I understand you. Everything you say. It’s so much better than ‘I love you.’”

“Well I _do_ love you, Murdoc. But I loved you years ago. It’s taken me years to learn to understand you. That’s deeper. I see you. I know you now.”

“Ah,” he couldn’t get anything else intelligible out, not when Stu had begun to buck up into him, sliding against his prostate with each exquisite arch of his body, all while pulling him down against him each time, the friction sending shockwaves of fire through him. All he could do was cradle Stu’s face in his hands, kiss and beg into his mouth as his chest blossomed with a warmth he’d spent most of his life running from. The thrusting only sped up and Murdoc’s whimpers became punctuated with sharp cries as he neared climax, bouncing shamelessly in Stu’s lap. The noises alone were enough to make his eyes roll back in his head, the knowledge that his body was leaking, dripping for his lover’s touch.

And then there were tears in his eyes, rolling down his face and onto Stu’s upturned one, wetting his cheeks, his lips, sliding into his mouth. Compared to the slick movement of their bodies, this didn’t seem very erotic, but Stu moaned at the sight and taste, nodding. This was more than another round of lovemaking: it was transference, fucking transmutation of passion into something they could clutch.

“I know you, Murdoc. I’m so fucking glad that I do, too,” Stu groaned. “What a fucking gem you were, hiding under so many layers. Took forever to unveil you. And look at you now.”

“Stu...fuck,” he pressed his forehead to the singer’s. “I’m not going to last, gonna come…”

“Want me to touch you?”

“Mm, no. No. This is enough. Wanna come on your cock.”’

“Fuck, yeah,” he breathed. “So good for me, Murdoc. Show me, show me.”

There was really no way he could ever deny Stu when he asked like that, so beautiful and tear-spilled and flushed. And so, still crying without any shame, Murdoc let his back arch, ground down into Stu’s lap hard, getting that last spark against his sweet spot, letting the white lights dance before his vision as he came with a wail, spilling all over their bellies, climaxing from the rapture of being penetrated so fucking deep.

When they made love like this, they did it for the intimacy more than for the pleasure. That being said, the sensation alone was otherworldly, and he was vaguely aware of just how loud he was as his toes curled, his hips shook, and his muscles continued to twitch well after his cock had stopped shooting all over them. He chanced a glance down, caught the way his body glistened with stickines, the white splash of the Milky Way.

“Well,” he whispered, still shuddering, waves still stirring through his nerves, a pleasant aftershock. Stu's space talk was really messing with his head, what was wrong with him?

“I love you,” Stu said again, tilting his head to the side, kissing the bassist’s cheek. “Love you, love you, Murdoc, oh god.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he promised, “go ahead, starlight.”

“Fuck, Muds!” That was all it took, and then Stu was exploding inside of him, thrusting up fast as he came and came, moaning gentle love yous into Murdoc’s ear as he did. The bassist stroked his hair and held him through it, whispering how good it felt, how kind Stu was to him in these sacred moments.

For several minutes, all they had the energy to do was sit there, clutching one another as their bodies recovered. Murdoc was vaguely aware of the wet heat between his legs, could feel that some of the singer’s release was already beginning to ooze from his hole. He didn’t bother to complain though; it was vindicating, to have evidence of their exploits there like that. Eventually, their sweaty skin began to cool, and the singer shivered.

“Blanket?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to let you go.”

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, luv, I’m not planning on going anywhere if you let go of me.”

Stu smiled at that, and after giving Murdoc one last kiss, he slowly drew back, making sure his movements were gentle enough that their tired bodies could recover. First came the leaning back, then they unwound their arms from around one another. Finally, Murdoc pushed his weight onto his arms so he could lift himself out of Stu’s lap, and the singer rolled away with a grunt, pulling back the duvet and slipping beneath it to regain his lost body heat.

Murdoc winced just a bit at the loss, letting his fingers slide over his hole, feeling Stu’s cum starting to dribble out of him. It was simultaneously filthy and sacred, the feeling.

Nothing like the sight that lay before him though. He glanced over and found Stu, head propped up on the pillows, hair splayed out like a blue halo beneath him. His eyes were open and fixed on the skylight, and all the light that shone in through that window reflected back in his infinity eyes.

There were limitless universes twinkling there, millions of yet-unlaughed-at jokes, lifetimes’ worth of lanky hugs and groggy morning kisses, endless afternoons sharing cigarettes and getting to know one another better, that rite they both practiced with one another daily.

He was hardly sold on the reincarnation shit that Stu liked to prattle on about. He liked the idea of, but didn’t really believe in, any alternate universes around them. After all, he had enough on his plate navigating the one life he’d been given.

But looking at the other man, recumbent and resplendent like this, he felt certain. He had found the very center of his own universe. The light that danced in Stu’s eyes was enough to guide him home, every single day, to remind him who he was.

“Gone pretty quiet,” the singer commented, fumbling around for the pack of cigarettes he’d left on his side of the bed. There was definitely a ‘No Smoking’ section in the contract they’d signed to rent the room. There would certainly be fines to pay. “What are you thinking about?”

Murdoc grabbed his lighter, flicked it open for the singer, watched the flame quiver. “Religion,” he answered. “Or something close to it.”


End file.
